The Ju'ukrterian It-Being's Tale

2 

The Ju’ukrterian It-Being’s Tale 
 

 

    When the Thwurbullerian came back from the hygiene cabinets it was terrifically impressed at meeting a Ju’ukrterian it-being and, since Trff congratulated it on its lovely story, urged it to tell a story next, if it would care to?

    “It doesn’t know any,” said BrTl quickly.

    “Yes, it does!” said Trff in surprise, pointing a surprised antenna at him.

    “All right, name one.”

    “If you-it wishes, of course it’ll name one. It didn’t know they had to have names, though, BrTl.”

    “Name ONE!” he repeated, getting rather loud.

    “‘The Story of How Jhl and BrTl and Trff Went to Ubberthawenny and Zapped—’”

    “Not that one!” he gasped.

    “Oh. It thought it was a good story, BrTl. It’s heard you-it tell it in spaceport bars twenty-three times.” 
    Twenty-thr—! Literal-minded engineering asteroid-brain! Spaceport dives, and do NOT tell it, he sent evilly.

    It sees: not appropriate to the company. You-it might have said so before! “It’s a story much appreciated by fellow-spacers, but of course not appropriate to the present company,” it said politely.—BrTl restrained the impulse to shut his eyes, because guess what? It was only gonna get worse!—“It’ll name another one. ‘The Story of How Jhl and BrTl and Trff Went to Z’therabad on Whtyll and Conned the J’rd’s Food Hall Manager Into—’ Oh. No. It thought that was a good story, BrTl,” it said sadly.

    Forty-Four was emanating a strong wish to hear it but BrTl closed his mind completely to this and said: “What about one of Jhl’s stories from when she was in Space Fleet?”

    “That’s a good idea! It could name of one those!” There was a discernible IG microsecond’s pause. Then it sent: Nothing with zapping in it, though?

    You-it sent it, he agreed sourly.

    “It will name one of Jhl’s stories from when she was in Space Fleet,” it announced. Several members of its audience blinked, or displayed similar body signals indicating various degrees of “taken aback,” and “hasn’t it been there, done that?” and similar. BrTl didn’t bother to react—and before it was done, they weren’t gonna bother to, either, or his name wasn’t BrTl!

    “Who is Jhl?” asked Dohra, very confused.

    “Our Captain. BrTl’s and its,” Trff explained.

    Dohra gaped at it. Maybe it didn’t know that the mind-image it was sending didn’t match any idea of a trader captain in the Known Uni—

    “Yes,” said BrTl laconically.

    “What’s wrong?” asked blndreL, taking a jing-jing nut.

    “I—I had it all wrong. I thought their captain was… older,” finished Dohra limply, unable to convey the magnitude of her misconception.

    “No,” said the Nblyterian simply.

    “In Feeny-Argyllian years, that would be quite young,” the paired beings agreed.

    Dohra subsided, trying vainly to smile.

    “‘The Story of How Jhl Lost Her-its FW Pack When She-it was in Space Fl—’ BrTl thinks it wouldn’t be appropriate,” it said sadly. “Are those other stories appropriate?” it asked him.

    “Not entirely. Better not tell them after all, Trff.”

    “It wasn’t going to tell them, it was only going to name them.”

    BlndreL had realised that some of her beliefs about Ju’ukrterian it-beings had been mistaken. She took a deep breath. “The telling usually comes straight after the naming, Trff.”

    “Certainly in circumstances where the company’s sitting round expecting to hear a story,” said BrTl precisely, but with a certain resignation in his tone. –Literal-minded, he explained resignedly to the Nblyterian.

    I see! she agreed, with a mammalian grin.

    “Have another nut,” he said generously, cheering up slightly. “Or in fact an appendageful.”

    “Thanks, I think I’ll need them!” she agreed with a bass rumble of laughter.

    The it-being pointed an antenna briefly at her. “What about ‘The Story of How Jhl Was in a Four With a Nblyteri—’” What does you-it mean, we don’t want any more little tubes?

    Just take it as a given, thanks, Trff, returned BrTl heavily. That cuts out twos, threes, fours, fives, and any other combinations she was or might’ve been in—get it?

    All right! it sent huffily, beginning to fluff itself up crossly.

    “A Ju’ukrterian story would be nice,” the Thwurbullerian put in kindly.

    “Yes, tell a Ju’ukrterian story!” urged the Feeny-Argyllians.

    “Yes, tell a Ju’ukrterian story, Great One!” echoed the yellow Flppu.

    BrTl had seen this coming from a megazillion megazillion glps out, so he just settled his back more comfortably—“Oops, sorry, Forty-Four!”—settled his back more comfortably against his section of the corner whilst keeping his tail firmly out of tickling-range of other beings’ epidermis. “Go on, Trff, it’ll be—uh—interesting for them, they’ve never heard one before. Oh: and when you sense feelings of getting-to-the-end-ishness, just stop, there’s a good old Trff, will you?”

    “It always does.”

    Yeah, right. “The one with the nga’a-nga’a birds in it’s good,” he said kindly.

    “It’ll tell that one, then, shall it?” it said happily.

    The company chorusing “Yes, please!” it began.
 

 

    This story is called “The Story With the Nga’a-Nga’a Birds in It.” The it-being is happy on a planet very far away where the nga’a-nga’a birds are singing to two silver moons in a pink sky and the laa flows like laa. It begs its audience’s pardon: where the laa flows in the fullest degree of laa-ishness.

   The it-being is fermenting up the laa. The it-being is deep in contemplation of its happiness. The it-being is allowing a being-not-of-it-beingness to collect discarded nga’a-nga’a feathers fallen to the silver sand. The it-being is deep in contemplation of the nga’a-nga’a birds’ singing. The it-being is calculating the astronomical distance, in terms of the commonly perceived space-time continuum, between the two silver moons. The it-being is cooking up the nga’a-nga’a birds’ eggs. The it-being is wondering if the observed phenomenon of the nga’a-nga’a birds’ nga’a-nga’a bird-ishness can be related meaningfully to the observed phenomenon of the reflectivity of the silver sand. The it-being meets a being-not-of-it-beingness. The it-being is eating the nga’a-nga’a birds’ eggs of the fullest degree of nga’a-nga’a birds’ egg-ishness. The it-being is drinking the laa of the fullest degree of laa-ishness. Mmm, the scent of Zllian eeaiiaya flowers in early summer is sensed by the it-being. The it-being is picking the eeaiiaya flowers. The being-not-of-it-beingness is greeting the it-being. “May this humble being-not-of-it-beingness have the it-being’s permission to gather discarded nga’a-nga’a feathers which have fallen to the silver sand of the it-being’s planet which is in the fullest degree of it-being-planetness?”
 

    The emanations of bewilderment and confusion had become so loud that BrTl cleared his throat, though earlier he’d sworn to himself he’d just lean back and enjoy it. “Sorry,” he said, as the yellow Flppu was blown ceiling-wards, squeaking. He replaced it on its humanoid-type chair with a kindly pseudopod. “I hate to interrupt, dear old Trff, and it’s all quite clear to me—”

    “It sees that!” it hooted happily.

    “Yes. But these other beings aren’t used to Ju’ukrterian stories.”

    The other beings were emanating agreement with him but as none of them spoke up Dohra took a deep breath and said valiantly: “It’s a lovely story so far, Trff! I wish I could go there, your planet sounds really beautiful!”

    “‘In the fullest degree of it-being-planetness,’” corrected BrTl, not quite under his breath.

    “Yes,” she said, giving him a scorching mammalian glare which might not have had the Vvlvanian free-fire quality of his Captain’s glares, but ran them pretty Vvlvanian-cursed close. “Really beautiful. I wish I could see the pink sky and the two silver— Ooh!” she gasped, finding she was.

    Some beings don’t care for that, BrTl sent idly to his ship-companion.

    She-it does! it replied crossly.

    Now—yes.

    “It didn’t mean to take you-it by surprise, Dohra,” Trff explained kindly.

    “No, of course not!” she beamed. “That was wonderful! I wish I lived there!”

    “You-it would have to wear your-its FW pack, Dohra.”

    “I see,” she said sadly. “Um, could I just ask, um, was the it-being in the story doing all those things at once?”

    “Oh, yes,” it said placidly.

    “In terms of the commonly perceived space-time continuum, it was talking about more than one it-being,” warned BrTl mildly. He’d seen that one coming way back when the first Br-cognates were still in their culture-pod—speaking purely figuratively and not in terms of the plasmo-blasted commonly perceived You-Know-What.

    “Oh—yes. Several, Dohra. Several,” said Trff, sounding horribly vague.

    “I see,” she fumbled. “It was like a—a get-together?”

    “Not in terms of the commonly perceived space-time continuum,” it admitted cautiously. “Of course, in Ju’ukrterian terms, that is it. Or not,” it added.

    It’s like that, BrTl warned the confused mammalian humanoid. You’ll find it much easier if you just accept everything.

    “It was most enjoyable, Trff,” said the Thwurbullerian politely. “May I ask, was there more than one off-worlder wishing to gather nga’a-nga’a feathers?”

    “Nga’a-nga’a feathers,” said the Nblyterian under her breath, with a deep sigh.

    “They have that effect on Jhl, too,” BrTl agreed. “One off-worlder in this instance, in terms of the commonly perceived space-time continuum, wasn’t there, Trff?”

    “In terms of the commonly perceived space-time continuum, in this instance: one. Yes,” it said pleasedly.

    “Yes. In terms of the commonly perceived space-time continuum, you-it had those parts of the story a bit out of order,” he explained.

    “Did it? It begs all beings’ pardons,” it said nicely. “Shall it go on?”

    “Yes, please go on,” urged the Thwurbullerian politely.

    “Yes, do. And if the nga’a-nga’a feathers come into a bit more, personally I won't mind!” said blndreL with a laugh.

    “They don’t affect me,” chorused the Feeny-Argyllians regretfully.

    “They affect me!” squeaked the yellow Flppu, bobbing excitedly. It shot up to the length of its rein and its masters, apologising to the company, hauled it down again. “Humblest apologies, Great One,” it said to Trff. “Please go on with your lovely story.”

    Happily the it-being went on:
 

 

   The it-being is fermenting up the laa. The it-being is deep in contemplation of its happiness. The it-being is picking the eeaiiaya flowers. The it-being is allowing a being-not-of-it-beingness to collect discarded nga’a-nga’a feathers fallen to the silver sand. The being-not-of-it-beingness is greeting the it-being. “May this humble being-not-of-it-beingness have the it-being’s permission to gather discarded nga’a-nga’a feathers which have fallen to the silver sand of the it-being’s planet which is in the fullest degree of it-being-planetness?”

    The it-being is allowing a being-not-of-it-beingness to collect discarded nga’a-nga’a feathers fallen to the silver sand. The it-being is fermenting up the laa. The it-being is deep in contemplation of its happiness. The it-being is picking the eeaiiaya flowers. The it-being is on a planet, not of it-being-planetness. The it-being is wishing it was on the planet of fullest it-being-planetness. The it-being is helping the being-not-of-it-beingness on the planet-not-of-it-being-planetness to decipher the encoding of the stones. The it-being is allowing a being-not-of-it-beingness to collect discarded nga’a-nga’a feathers fallen to the silver sand. The it-being is deep in contemplation of its happiness. The it-being is fermenting up the laa. The it-being is on a planet, not of it-being-planetness. The it-being is picking the eeaiiaya flowers. The it-being is wishing it was on the planet of it-being-planetness.

    “Thank you-it, oh great it-being of fullest it-beingness, for allowing this humble being-not-of-it-beingness to gather the fallen nga’a-nga’a feathers,” says the being-not-of-it-beingness. The it-being is deep in contemplation of its happiness. The it-being is picking the eeaiiaya flowers. The it-being is fermenting up the laa. “They are nga’a-nga’a feathers of the fullest degree of nga’a-nga’a feather-ishness,” says the being-not-of-it-beingness. The it-being is fermenting up the laa. The it-being is calculating the ship’s trajectory, in terms of the commonly-perceived space-time continuum, from Planet W690 in the Two Thousand Eight Hundred and Forty-First Sector, to Planet PG50831 in the Second Sector, given the influence, in terms of the commonly perceived space-time continuum, of Star Z42 which is going super-nova, in terms of the commonly perceived space-time continuum, within ten point seven zero two four three repeating IG years of the ship’s passage. Or would it be better to do it in hyper-hop? The it-being is telling the being-not-of-it-beingness that these stones were carved many IG years ago, in terms of the commonly perceived space-time continuum, by beings not of it-beingness. The it-being is picking the eeaiiaya flowers. The it-being is drinking the laa. Mmm, the scent of eeaiiaya flowers in early summer!
 

 

    “Thank you-it, oh great it-being of fullest it-beingness, for allowing this humble being-not-of-it-beingness to gather the fallen nga’a-nga’a feathers,” says the being-not-of-it-beingness. “Please accept the blob in token of this humble being-not-of-it-beingness’s gratitude. The fallen nga’a-nga’a feathers gathered by the humble being-not-of-it-beingness are bringing many rafts of super-igs to the humble being-not-of-it-beingness’s account.” The it-being is fermenting up the laa. The it-being is doing mathematical calculations at Third School. The it-being is on a planet, not of it-being-planetness. The it-being is deep in contemplation of its happiness. The it-being is picking the eeaiiaya flowers. The it-being is wishing it was on the planet of it-being-planetness.

    The great being-not-of-it-beingness in charge of the ship is deciding to do the trip in hyper-hop. The it-being is fermenting up the laa. The it-being is gathering the nga’a-nga’a eggs. The it-being is deep in contemplation of its happiness. The it-being is picking the eeaiiaya flowers. The it-being is wishing it was on the planet of it-being-planetness. The it-being is deep in contemplation of its happiness. The it-being is picking the eeaiiaya flowers. The it-being is wishing it was on the planet of it-being-planetness. The it-being is telling the being-not-of-it-beingness that the condition has been observed before, in terms of the commonly perceived space-time continuum, in beings not of it-beingness. The it-being is calculating the vRaa effect. The it-being is fermenting up the laa.

    The it-being is giving the being-not-of-it-beingness its thanks for the blob. The it-being does not have blobs. The it-being has the blob. The it-being is fermenting up the laa. The it-being is deep in contemplation of its happiness. The it-being is picking the eeaiiaya flowers. The it-being is wishing it was on the planet of it-being-planetness. The it-being is allowing a being-not-of-it-beingness to collect discarded nga’a-nga’a feathers fallen to the silver sand. The it-being is fermenting up the laa. The it-being is deep in contemplation of its happiness. The it-being is picking the eeaiiaya flowers. The it-being is deep in contemplation of the blob. This story is called “The Story With the Nga’a-Nga’a Birds in It.” The it-being is happy on a planet very far away where the nga’a-nga’a birds are singing to two silver moons in a pink sky and the laa flows in the fullest degree of laa-ish— 

 

    The it-being stopped, since BrTl was sending loudly: End-ishness!

    “Thank you, Trff,” he said firmly. “That was a lovely story. Perhaps a better name for it might be ‘The Story With the Nga’a-Nga’a Birds in It That Tells How the First Blob Came to the Planet of the It-Being.’”

    “Oh!” cried Dohra loudly. “I see!”

    BrTl had thought she might. “Yes.”

    “Yes,” Trff agreed happily. “You-it does see, Dohra.”

    “So that’s a Ju’ukrterian story!” said the Thwurbullerian kindly. “Thank you so much, Great It-Being. We’re all most honoured.”

    “Most honoured, Great It-Being!” chorused the Feeny-Argyllians eagerly.

    “Most honoured, Great One!” squeaked the Flppu. “I could help gather the eeaiiaya flowers and ferment up the laa, if I was on the Great One’s planet!”

    “That’s a kind thought, S-Fl’Chuyilleea,” it said politely. “Did you-it enjoy the story, blndreL?”

    “Very much. It was most interesting, Trff. I wouldn't have minded hearing a bit more about the hyper-hop trip to Planet PG50831.”

    Kindly it sent her the calculations, and blndreL, nodding thoughtfully, lapsed into deep contemplation.

    “So, um, was the great being-not-of-it-beingness in charge of the ship the captain?” asked Dohra.

    “No. It means Yes,” it said.

    BrTl cleared his throat—cautiously, this time. “In Intergalactic terms, yes.”

    “I see.”

    “Have another small fermented laa,” said BrTl generously to his ship-companion.

    “Thanks, but this round’s on it,” it responded happily. It must’ve received an emanation or two regarding the paucity of igs in the ship’s account, because it amended carefully: “On the it-being’s account.”

    “Oh, good! In that case I'll have”—carefully he consulted the servo-mech’s menu—“a Chontigaumian Super-Duper Zapper-Whapper. Xathpyroid double shot.”

    “Nnru juice, fermented laa, qwlot and Huyajhangwanian brandy?” said the Thwurbullerian, emanating amusement mixed with disapproval. “Before dinner? I wouldn’t, Lieutenant!”

    “Oh, my constitution can take it! –Make it a genuine one,” he added pointedly.

    The others all ordered, but Dohra claimed to have plenty of ale left. “Um… I think I see," she said cautiously. “It was all happening at once, wasn’t it, Trff?”

    “Yes. No,” it said placidly.

    “That’s as good as it’s gonna get,” warned BrTl laconically.

    They are all said to be like that Dohra, sent blndreL kindly, apparently unaware that if Trff wanted to, it’d be under that crest of hers and through whatever she had underneath it before she could blink.

    Dohra bit her lip.

    “Have a very small shot of qwlot, Dohra. Humanoid-small,” suggested Forty-Four very kindly.

    “Um, maybe I will. Um, thank you, Trff,” she said lamely as it pointed a severe antenna at the servo-mech and ordered: “One humanoid-small shot of qwlot. –It’ll be genuine,” it noted.

    The servo-mech had brought all the drinks and certain beings had leapt on theirs like—well, clutches of mimm-torrs that had just crossed the Wurratonoonian desert out of reach of liquid for half an IG year sprang to mind—and measurable quantities had passed the epiglottis or whatever was used, when BrTl adjudged it time to say kindly to the puzzled young mammalian humanoid (female) in their midst, who, he was beginning to realise, had nothing much in common with his Captain except her gender and species and certain indications of a sense of humour: “Personally I find it best to think of Trff’s stories as concerning several individual it-beings, all doing things both sequentially and simultaneously, the sequence not always having anything to do with the movement of time as you or I might perceive it.”

    “Um—yes!” she gasped.

    “It left a lot out, this time round,” he said generously.

    “Did it?” said Dohra limply.

    “A Thwurbullerian couldn’t do that. Very clever,” approved Forty-Four. “Why don't you tell us a story now, Dohra?” Gently it removed the scarcely-touched shot glass from her grasp.

    “Ye—Um, thank you, Forty Four!” she gasped. “It’s terribly strong, isn’t it?”

    “Yes.” The Thwurbullerian handed it to the servo-mech. “Go on!”

    “Shall I?” said Dohra shyly to the company.

    “Yes, please go on!” they all cried.

    “Um, my story isn’t like yours, though,” she said, looking shyly from Trff to the Thwurbullerian.

    At this they all cried things like: “That doesn't matter!” And: “Mine was nothing very much!” And: “But do tell it, anyway!” And so forth.

    So, taking a deep breath, Dohra launched into her story.